


The Other Way Around

by caffeinated_pens



Series: The Appointment in Samarra [9]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Brotherly Love, Holmes Brothers, Hurt/Comfort, Other, PTSD Mycroft, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Sherlock Being a Good Brother
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-22
Updated: 2017-07-22
Packaged: 2018-12-05 12:34:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 697
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11578173
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/caffeinated_pens/pseuds/caffeinated_pens
Summary: ‘So this is what being comforted feels like,’ he thought. It was the first time anyone had ever comforted him, he was beginning to think he might like it.





	The Other Way Around

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks so much for all the support and for reading the fic! Here's some h/c for y'all.

       It had always been Mycroft taking care of his little brother, he liked it that way, it made him feel important. It had never been the other way around and he was okay with that, it would feel a bit odd to have Sherlock taking care of him.

       He had trouble sleeping most nights. It had gotten better since he had come to the hospital, Sherlock had barely left his side, he didn't have to be alone. Every night he would be haunted by visions, staring at the barrel of the gun that Sherlock had aimed on him, watching his brother turn the gun on himself, the governor blowing his brains out… The last one is what haunts him the most. Sherlock would always try to stay up until Mycroft fell asleep, but the younger man appeared to be sleeping.

       Mycroft rolled onto his back, he felt every muscle in his body tense up, unable to shut his eyes as he pictured it over and over and over. The governor’s blood splattering across the walls, the man dropping to the ground… He felt a hand grab his, apparently he was wrong about his brother being asleep. He gripped Sherlock’s hand as tight as he possibly could. He wanted so badly to shut his eyes and fall asleep, but he couldn't. His body screamed at him for rest but all he could do was picture that terrifying scene repeatedly, it made his insides churn, he always did have a weak stomach.

       Sherlock could apparently recognize the look on his brother's face, he stretched his arm as far as possible to try and reach the bin, since Mycroft was holding his hand so tight it hurt. He sat up and helped Mycroft do the same, rubbing his brother's back as he leaned over the bin and hurled. He vomited and vomited until there was nothing left to throw up. “Mycroft. Hey, Mycroft. It's okay. Can you tell me what you were thinking about?”

       “T-The- The governor,” he sputtered. “Eurus,” he added.

       “It's okay. It's okay. Look at me, it's okay. Everything is alright.”

       “The… The East Wind… Coming… Coming to… Coming to get me.” He shook with fear.

       “No, nothing or nobody is going to get you, okay? I've got you, and I won't let anything hurt you.” He stared right into his brother's eyes. “I need you to focus on me, got it? Just forget everything else, concentrate on my face and on my voice.” Mycroft tried to shove all of the unpleasant memories away, tried to focus on his baby brother and let the younger man draw him back to reality. He blinked his eyes open and shut, trying to stop seeing the disturbing images. “It's okay Myc, I'm here, nothing can hurt you.” He squeezed his eyes shut then opened them. Sherlock kept talking to him, he focused on his brother’s face, trying to make the room stop spinning. “You okay?”

       “Yes, I think so.” Mycroft nodded as he sat up straight, trying to regain himself and act as though nothing had happened. Sherlock pulled his brother close to him and Mycroft was unable to stop the tears pouring out from his eyes. He curled into his baby brother's chest and let the younger man hold him. ‘ _So this is what being comforted feels like_ ,’ he thought. It was the first time anyone had ever comforted him, he was beginning to think he might like it. He let himself cry for the first time in a year. He sobbed and sobbed, everything that had happened in these past few days having chipped away his iceman facade. Sherlock rubbed his back, and rocked him as though he were an infant. On any other day he would protest, then again, on any other day he wouldn’t be crying, so he let himself try to relax, try to get some sleep for once, let his little brother take care of him.

       He heard Sherlock singing quietly, almost whispering. His heart panged as he realized it was the lullaby their mother used to sing to them when they were little. He closed his eyes and slowly drifted off to sleep.


End file.
